Seven Stages of Grief
by izzysfanfiction
Summary: Jeanine has experienced a loss, one that threatens her resolve and her commitment to Erudite’s “logic before loyalty.” Each Chapter is a glimpse into Jeanine’s mind as she handles inescapabe grief.
1. Denial

The walls in the hallway seem brighter.

Almost suffocatingly white.

I choose to accredit the choking feeling in my throat to the suffocatingly white walls.

I keep walking, smoothing out my blazer and my blouse.

I know I have a meeting in about 10 minutes, so I set my mind to making a short list of what I need.

My thought process is interrupted as I'm stopped by the sudden and urgent need to vomit. I focus on swallowing hard and pushing it to the back of my mind as much as I can.

I do not come to work to evoke pity from my coworkers, I come to do my job.

I go back to the mental list I'm trying to make.

Planner, laptop, pen, scratch pad.

That seems about right.

Deep breaths get me to my office without getting sick. I collect everything and stack it neatly in my arms before I set off for my meeting.

The moment I leave my office, all eyes are on me.

Normal. It's normal, I tell myself. I get stares a lot. There's nothing extraordinary going on.

I keep my shoulders back and walk to the conference room where I am expected.

The stares continue when I enter the room and close the door.

One woman in particular speaks up.

"Oh, I… I didn't expect you to come." she says. The nausea threatens to return.

"No, I'm here. If everyone is here, feel free to open the meeting." I say, and my voice sounds strangled.

I clear my throat and sit up straight.

Everyone goes back to normal, but I know they're glancing at me as frequently as possible.

I take notes; I'm not leading this meeting, which is quite good given that I'm currently in an unpleasant state.

Much to my displeasure, I've found myself in a distracted state. My concentration doesn't last for long.

My hands tremble as I hold my pen.

"Ms. Matthews, if you can't do this right now, I understand." the same woman from before says.

I look up.

Everyone's looking at me with a concern I didn't think Erudite was capable of.

"What makes you think I can't?" I ask, hoping that my harshness covers up any other feeling I could be experiencing.

"I don't mean to be rude, ma'am. It's just that your hands are shaking and you look like you might be sick." she says.

There it is. The sympathy.

The sympathy I don't want or need.

"I don't need your pity. Continue the meeting." I snap.

She nods slowly and turns back to her presentation.

After what feels like forever, I finally get out of the meeting. My nausea has faded considerably.

The stares haven't.

They know. I know they do.

And I'm being searched by every pair of eyes for a sign that I'm human.

They won't get it.

I hate that it is only lunch time.

Staring down at a plate only makes me want to throw up again.

The feeling of being overwhelmed creeps back in as I'm remembering my current situation.

I sip from my glass of ice water, hoping to try and calm myself.

My coworkers that usually sit with me slowly fill up the seats around me. They're silent. I know they're afraid that if they start talking it may seem like they're apathetic towards me.

"You can speak. I'm not sure why you're so silent." I say casually, picking up my fork. I have to force at least a few bites down.

Quiet discussion starts, and I'm joined by my assistant.

Nancy sits next to me, and it's glaringly obvious that she sits closer to me than she usually would. Her arm presses against mine. It's the closest she can get to comforting me without mentioning it.

After forcing half a salad down my throat, I stop trying. I don't want to embarrass myself by getting sick publicly.

"Jeanine, may I ask if you're okay?"

Kathrin Fosc shakes me out of my thoughts. I'm so startled that I drop my fork.

"Mmhm. Couldn't be better." I say, picking up my fork and forcing a smile.

"Alright…"

She obviously doesn't believe me.

I don't believe me either.

A headache is setting in and I feel like I've been punched in the stomach.

I decide to excuse myself. I have quite a bit of work to do anyway.

I walk off, and ignore the gentle brushing of Nancy's fingers against my waist when I get up.

I'm going to be fine.


	2. Anger

My laboratory is silent.

I have asked my other coworkers to leave me be for the evening, and therefore I sit alone, accompanied only by serums and by research; both of which are preferred company.

My silence is interrupted by a buzz as my phone lights up with a text message. I knew my silence was bound to be interrupted at some point.

It's Nancy, unsurprisingly. Everyone else was well aware that I am not to be bothered tonight.

Similarly to her response in the first place, I am not surprised by the nature of her message.

"Hi, I wanted to check on you. Need anything?"

I pick it up. "No." The response is simple, but many more words than that and I will have lost control.

Because deep in me, built up, instinctive anger threatens to take over.

I manage to subdue said anger while I answer Nancy's text, but the minute I've finished, it threatens my calm.

I rest my head in my hands again, taking forced deep breaths with my palms pressed to my face. I attempt to rediscover the calm I felt only a few minutes before.

My phone buzzes loudly against the table and I flinch at the sound.

Nancy again, this time with a more irritating response.

"Alright. When you get a chance, call Karen. She's got a few questions."

A few questions? No, more like 50 questions that will cause trouble for her department and the rest of Erudite. Of course Karen has questions, when doesn't she have a mindless question that I waste time giving simple questions to? Why am I not surprised?

The longer I stare at the message, the angrier I get, and my breathing picks up.

For just a moment, I lose control.

Hands shaking with the anger that has taken hold of the reins, I type out a reply. Each word further declares my anger.

"I don't have time to call Karen, don't be absurd. If I don't have time to be down in my office, I obviously cannot deal with her petty little requests." I send it without thinking twice.

Such anger is uncharacteristic of me. But it's coming from deep within, in a place I didn't know existed before. Before all of the current nonsense in my life happened.

If I am to be candor, this anger is severely misdirected.

But I'm so angry about what's happened that it's bound to come out, uncaring of who gets it.

I drop my phone down on the table and push it away so I don't have to look at it anymore.

I stare at the serums in front of me; it feels as if they're mocking me.

These are the serums that I failed on. The ones I couldn't get done, the ones I spent so much hard work and energy on. The reason I stayed up for hours, working overtime.

All for naught.

The compositions in front of me could have prevented all of this. But not only that; they could have saved multiple lives.

But I didn't finish them on time, nor did I test them.

I failed. Time came too quickly, interrupted the careful plan that I laid out.

On any other day but today, I would have told myself that I am not a failure, that I just had a bad day. That I experienced a human response to too much stress. This is the truth, the rational part of me trying to calm me. However, today is not that day.

The humanity in me runs deep, instincts are deeply ingrained, much to my displeasure.

I tell myself that I no longer need this humanity; look where it's gotten me.

Why should I waste time caring if it is all going to fall apart in the end? It's an illogical placement of energy that could have been used for my work.

All of these thoughts scream in my head, making chaos where there should be order.

As I stare down at the white table with wide eyes, I don't let myself scream aloud like I want to. That is the one thing I find that I can still control. I purse my lips together and close my eyes tightly.

"You have made your bed," I hiss to myself, "now you must lie in it. Pull yourself together." A simple enough reminder, but it works better than anything else has.

I sit up with a newfound emotional constriction.

Physically, anger is still present in the trembling fingers, in the tightness of my throat, in the warmth of my cheeks. But emotionally, the anger will only be placed where it really needs to be. I have taken control of the most difficult part of anger.

I know I must fix what I did in the depths of my rage, so I pick up my phone and text Nancy again. She didn't respond, most likely out of apprehension. Perhaps I was too harsh. I know I was too harsh, but in my defense, it seemed right at the time.

"Disregard that message, please. Tell Karen I will call her in about half an hour." I send it and take a breath. This is nothing I can't handle.

She responds quickly; the lack of previous response was most likely a smart decision on her part. I commend her decision.

"I will. And as far as she knew, until now, you didn't respond."

I take a breath. Nancy remained the logical, steady part of me even when my humanity threatened to destroy me and all that I stand for.

I turn off my phone and spend a moment breathing deep breaths, controlled breaths. And then I decide to face reality.

I get to my feet. Straighten my blazer. Tighten my ponytail. All little things that reinstate my facade that I find it easy to stay behind.

I retreat back to the state of denial I found myself comfortable in before, and get back to what's really important; my work.


End file.
